Lucky Number
by PunkPinkPower
Summary: Simon has treated 247 of Jayne's wounds. Today was the first day he ever said 'Thank You'.


_Notes: Originally written for Geeky_ramblings for Fandom Stocking 2013._

Today it's a knife wound in his bicep. It's deep, and Simon has to numb the area around it to get in there and sterilize and stitch it back up.

Jayne of course insists he doesn't need a bandage over the stitches, and Simon knows better by now than to argue with him.

"Thank ya, Doc," Jayne says, as he stands, and Simon's hands freeze over the sink where he was washing them.

Simon has treated 247 of Jayne's wounds. 247 gunshot wounds, knife wounds, tazer wounds, concussions, broken ribs, sprained joints, dislocated shoulders, burns… the list of ridiculous injuries they've accumulated on this ship goes on. But in all of that time, never once has Jayden uttered those two words to him.

It leaves Simon both skeptical and uncertain. "Did you just say 'Thank You'?"

"Now, why you gotta do that?" Jayne asks, pausing at the entrance to the infirmary and tossing his hands up, something he regrets when it pulls on his stitches and a little droplet of blood leaks out.

Simon grabs a cotton ball, walks forward and takes Jayne's arm. "Do what?"

Jayne hesitates. "Why you gotta make a big ol' deal about it when I tries to be nice to ya?"

"Because," Simon says, pressing a cotton swab to the still bleeding cut, "It feels like a big deal when you do it."

Jayne doesn't say anything, and Simon looks up from his wound to find Jayne staring at him. Jayne looks away quickly, feigning annoyance, and brings his other hand up to cover Simon's, holding the cotton ball.

"I got it," he says, and Simon drops his hand, Jayne's rough, calloused hand scraping his as he lets go.

"That's just the first time you've ever thanked me for patching you up," Simon says, making Jayne roll his eyes.

"Oh, it is not!" He objects, and Simon holds up a hand.

"You've complimented me," Simon says, counting on one finger, "You've said 'Nice work', you've vaguely threatened me in that affectionate, gruff was you do," he counts off the times as he goes, "But you've never said it. Not like that."

Jayne makes a face, like he just can't understand Simon at all. "What's so important about those words, specifically?"

Simon doesn't know the answer to that. He shakes his head uncertainly. "I'm not sure. You're welcome, though."

Simon back off, goes back to the sink to sterilize his hands and put away his materials, and Jayne watches him for a long time before finally dropping the cotton ball in the trash bin and walking away.

* * *

The next day, Jayne's in with a broken toe.

"You know," Simon says as he straightens the bone and wraps it to the surrounding toes, "When we first met, you had to be convinced and manipulated into letting me work on your wounds. Now you're in for a broken toe."

"Well aren't we just full of reminiscence lately," Jayne says, using one of the larger words he's learned, probably just to prove he can. "Didn't know you were paying so much attention, Doc."

Simon doesn't answer, because he isn't. Not really. Not anymore than he would with anyone else.

But then, everyone else has always said 'Thank you' to him. Maybe it's the fact that Jayne never had that made him keep track.

"I'm just saying," Simon says, teasingly, "I'm starting to think you're getting hurt on purpose."

Jayne punches him in the arm, hard. Simon laughs even as he holds his hurting arm, and Jayne grins smugly as he pulls on his sock.

"Oh," he says as he's leaving, doing a little curtsey, "Thank you!"

Simon throws a towel at him.

* * *

Jayne now says 'Thank You' every single time he leaves the infirmary, even if he isn't the one being treated. It gets them looks. The rest of the crew jokes about Jayne going soft.

He's stitching a wound on Jayne's back one day, leaning over his shoulder as Jayne hunches, when Jayne says, "I wish ya'd told me it was important to ya."

Simon looks up, wondering what Jayne's talking about. "That what was important?"

Jayne looks back over his shoulder a little. "Thankin' ya. For fixing me up."

Simon opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. He pulls a few more stitched through before he says, "I didn't think it was, I guess, until you started saying it."

"Hmmmf," Jayne says, and he turns his head back and lets Simon finish. "Anything else important to ya?" Jayne asks when he's finished, pulling his shirt on.

Simon tilts his head, considering Jayne and biting his lip. "I don't know," he says, "If I said it was important to me that you learn Latin, or start singing opera, would you do those, too?"

"No," Jayne says quickly, making a face. "Maybe," he admits a moment later, "Depending on whether or not you was joking."

"I'm joking," Simon says, smiling at the thought of Jayne singing an aria.

"Good," Jayne says, "It's hard to tell."

"I'll get back to you," Simon tells him, "If I think of anything else."

Jayne says 'Thank you' and leaves.

* * *

Jayne has now treated one of Simon's wounds.

For the first time, Simon is the one in need of medical care, and Jayne is the one who helps him. At Simon's instruction, he creates a tourniquet above Simon's knee to stop the bleeding, and then he carries him out of danger and back to the ship, while River and Zoe finish taking on the bad guys.

As Simon lies on the table, going in and out of consciousness, Jayne yells at him, stitching up his leg for him. Simon can't find the strength to give him any instructions; he's lost too much blood.

But what he does say, as Jayne patches him up and his vision blurs, is "Thank you, Jayne."

* * *

Jayne's snoring wakes Simon up.

He's beside him in a chair, his head dipped backwards and his hands crossed over his stomach. Simon looks down at his leg, which is heavily bandaged, and he wonders if Jayne did that or if River got back and helped out.

Still, it's Jayne who is sitting beside him, and they're clearly in space again, because Simon can hear the engine.

"Is everyone okay?" He asks, and Jayne starts awake.

"Awe, hell, Simon," Jayne says, sitting up and stretching, "You alright?"

"I appear to be," Simon says, though he's too tired to lift his head. "Everyone else?"

"Fine," Jayne says, "They're all fine. You are a son of a bitch."

Simon's eyes widen. "What?"

"Tryin'a die on me! And saying 'Thank you!'" Jayne says, and he holds up a hand threateningly. "If ya didn't already look like death, I'd beat the daylights out'a ya."

"I'm sorry," Simon says, but he can't help the smile that spread across his face, "I didn't know you cared."

Something contorts on Jayne's face, like he's angry and hurt all at once, and he says, "Why would I have spent all that time being nice to ya if I didn't care?"

Simon considers that, and something hits him in his post-injury tiredness and euphoria. The 'Thank you's, they were Jayne's way of showing Simon affection? They were, weren't they.

"Oh," Simon says, laughing a little, like he should have thought of this or seen it long ago, "Oh!"

He reaches out for Jayne's hand on the side of the table, and places his own over it. He closes his eyes, because it feels weird and he's tired, but he does feel Jayne grip his hand back before he goes to sleep again.

* * *

He ends up having a scar where Jayne stitched his leg up, but under the circumstances, he forgives him.

Well, that, and Jayne actually seems to feel guilty about it, so Simon can't hold it over him.

Jayne still says 'Thank You' each and every time Simon heals him, and sometimes, when Jayne's in a good mood or when no one is looking, Simon say's 'Your welcome' with a kiss.

Jayne says 'Thank you' for that, too.


End file.
